


Corrode

by deathwailart



Series: Aedan Cousland [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Bonding, Comfort, F/M, Post-Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 17:50:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1992147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anora visits Aedan in the aftermath of the burning of Amaranthine.</p>
<p>Written for the 30 day drabble challenge: corrode</p>
            </blockquote>





	Corrode

Anora arrives to a vigil not so much in chaos but not far off, rubble – mercifully little thanks to dwarven craftsmen and the quality stone he found – and bodies of the Darkspawn piled high to be burned until there's nothing left but ash. She arrives with a force and Aedan is really too tired to wonder who sent word to her so quickly but she's here and he's been living in his armour ever since himself, Nathaniel, Anders and Oghren tramped back from dealing with The Mother.  
  
"Husband," she greets with that little smile that's only for him and he looks up from the table they've dragged into the main hall, littered with papers and pretty much where he works, eats and sleeps, and finally feels himself smile.  
  
"Wife," he replies and to an outsider it probably sounds so cold, impersonal even but she's crossing the room, all gleaming armour and golden hair swept away from her face and he's never been more happy to see her. He can't hold her the way he'd like, not just because he's still in his armour because they've got Darkspawn to kill in those piles and because he left a city to burn even if he didn't do it lightly and he's been too busy, but because one of his arms is still injured.  
  
"When word came of Amaranthine burning..." It's rare that Anora is lost for words and with a wave of his free hand the hall empties, granting them much needed privacy. They prefer to keep their emotions private, a united front, warm to their people and firm to their enemies but always they must seem to be in control at all times. At last Aedan allows himself to sag as he sits down again, Anora dragging a chair over to join him.  
  
"I don't know how many we lost yet, I haven't seen the numbers...If I could have saved them all."  
  
"But you can't. Many were evacuated and in keeping the Vigil safe you-"  
  
"I know," he says quietly and she nods. There's no need to drag it out right now when it's still so fresh and his wound from the battle is red and raw – Anders did what he could but they were exhausted and out of poultices when the battle was over and there is so much worse than his wounds for the healers to deal with. "You should have told me you were coming. I would've had some sort of welcome for you. Washed. Maybe even shaved."  
  
It doesn't get the laugh he'd hoped for as she takes hold of his chin, turning him to face her and he can see the shadows of exhaustion under her eyes and now it's just them she's worried, a frown knitting her brow.  
  
"I could have lost you," she says so quietly he almost doesn't catch it and he looks down at his armour and winces. Whatever that creature vomited on him when he was in her grasp – worse than that other broodmother in the Deep Roads, not that he ever thought anything could be worse – burned his armour, leaving it discoloured and mottled, no longer smooth and gleaming.  
  
"It looks worse than it is, I probably won't even scar." He takes her hands in his, leaning forward to kiss away the frown, smiling reassuringly. "You won't be rid of me that easily."  
  
"You'll be glad to know you can say the same – I'm not leaving this all to you."  
  
Already he feels a little less weary.


End file.
